The afternoon had been blissfully uneventful. A cat lounged across the broad branch of an old oak tree, lazily watching the world with the quiet confidence that only cats seem capable of possessing. A few branches higher, an elderly owl sat in dignified silence, observing everything and commenting on nothing.
Below them, a dog trotted along the top of a weathered stone wall with rather more confidence than balance. Halfway across, one loose stone shifted. The dog froze. His paws performed a frantic dance that would have impressed even the finest ballet instructor.
Gravity, however, remained entirely unimpressed. With a yelp, the dog disappeared into an obliging blackberry bush.
The cat watched the spectacle with great satisfaction. “Karma’s a bitch.”
The owl slowly opened one eye. “My dear cat,” he said after a thoughtful pause, “before we continue, perhaps we should establish two things.”
The cat stretched. “Oh?”
“Firstly… what exactly is a bitch?”
The cat frowned. “Well…”
“And secondly,” continued the owl, “who, precisely, is Karma?”
The cat blinked. “You know… Karma.”
“I’m afraid I don’t.”
“The woman.”
“What woman?”
“The one who follows bad people around waiting for the perfect moment to ruin their day.”
The owl stared for what felt like several centuries. “My dear cat,” he sighed at last, “I believe you may have confused an ancient philosophical principle with a remarkably efficient cosmic collections agency.”
The cat looked unconvinced. “So she doesn’t carry a notebook?”
“No.”
“Or keep score?”
“No.”
“Or arrange poetic accidents?”
“No.”
“What about parking tickets?”
“Especially not parking tickets.”
“That’s disappointing.”
“I imagine it is.”
“So…” the cat continued, “all those people on the internet shouting ‘Karma!’ every time someone’s trousers fall down in public…”
“…are using the word rather differently from its original meaning.”
“Ah.”
A comfortable silence settled between them as the dog emerged cautiously from the blackberry bush, gave the old stone wall a distinctly suspicious look, and chose a rather safer route home.
The cat watched him disappear. “So,” he said, “if Karma isn’t an invisible woman with a wicked sense of humour, where did everyone get the idea?”
The owl ruffled his feathers. “To answer that, we shall have to travel rather further back than the invention of social media.”
“Oh dear.”
“Indeed.”
“Is this the educational part?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“I was rather enjoying the funny part.”
The owl smiled.
“Who said they couldn’t be the same thing?”
The cat narrowed his eyes.
“I don’t trust philosophers.”
“A wise precaution.”
The owl settled himself more comfortably upon the branch. “Imagine, if you will, a dusty road in northern India some two and a half thousand years ago.”
The cat interrupted immediately. “Is there going to be walking?”
“Almost certainly.”
“I was hoping for dragons.”
“Wrong civilisation.”
“Shame.”
“The people walking those roads spent a great deal of time asking rather profound questions about life, suffering and what it means to live well. Somewhere among those conversations was a remarkably ordinary little Sanskrit word.”
“Don’t tell me.”
“I shall.”
“It means something terribly mysterious.”
“It means ‘action’.”
The cat blinked. “That’s it?”
“Quite enough, as it happens.”
“No cosmic revenge?”
“No.”
“No universal justice?”
“No.”
“No celestial complaints department?”
“I’m afraid not.”
“No invisible force making sure Gary from Accounts eventually gets what he deserves?”
The owl chuckled. “I’m afraid the universe appears to have rather more important things to do than supervise Gary from Accounts.”
The cat stared blankly. “So… somewhere along the way…”
“…the story changed,” finished the owl. “Or perhaps more accurately, every culture retold it using stories it already understood.”
“I don’t follow.”
“To be fair,” said the owl, “Europe already had a rather crowded cupboard of supernatural explanations.”
“Oh?”
“Curses.”
“Makes sense.”
“The Evil Eye.”
“I’ve met her.”
“You almost certainly haven’t.”
“Carry on.”
“Nemesis. Divine judgement. Fate. ‘You reap what you sow.’ Grandmothers warning that ‘it’ll come back on you.’”
“My grandmother said that.”
“They all did.”
“So when karma arrived…”
“…it wasn’t really adopted.”
“It was translated?”
“Exactly.”
“We looked at a beautifully subtle philosophy about actions and consequences and said…”
The cat grinned. “‘Ah yes… cosmic revenge. We know this one.’”
The owl smiled. “Precisely.”
A robin landed briefly on a nearby branch before thinking better of it and flying away. The cat watched it disappear. “So what happened next?”
“The internet.”
The cat winced. “Oh.”
“Indeed.”
“Someone cuts into a queue.”
“Yes.”
“A pigeon immediately expresses a rather strong opinion on their jacket.”
“Quite.”
“The comments say ‘Karma’.”
“They do.”
“Someone lies.”
“Yes.”
“They accidentally drop their phone into a swimming pool.”
“Also karma?”
“So the comments insist.”
The owl sighed. “Modern karma is astonishingly efficient.”
“How so?”
“Ancient philosophy occasionally allowed several lifetimes for actions to unfold.”
“And today?”
“Social media appears to expect results before lunch.”
The cat laughed so hard he nearly joined the dog in the blackberry bush. When he finally regained his composure, he looked thoughtfully at the owl. “So if karma isn’t wandering about punishing everyone else…”
The owl nodded.
“…what is it actually doing?”
The old owl gazed across the valley, where the evening light was beginning to settle over the trees. “Perhaps,” he said quietly, “we have been asking the wrong question all along.”
The cat waited. “Karma was never really about asking, ‘What will happen to them?’”
“No?”
“It asks something much more uncomfortable.”
The owl turned to face the cat. “What are your own actions making of you?”
For once, the cat had absolutely nothing to say. Far below, the dog, now considerably humbler than before, carefully avoided the loose stone altogether and continued on his way.
The owl watched him disappear down the path. “You know,” he said softly, “I suspect that lesson had very little to do with karma.”
“And everything to do with loose stones?”
“Quite so.”
The cat looked thoughtfully at the old wall. “So… sometimes a loose stone is just a loose stone?”
“Frequently.”
“That’s disappointingly sensible.”
“Reality often is.”
The owl folded his wings. “The difficulty, my dear cat, is that people are often far more interested in explaining other people’s misfortunes than examining their own choices.”
The cat was unusually quiet. After a long pause, he spoke. “So…”
“Yes?”
“What kind of cat am I becoming?”
The owl smiled. Now that, my dear cat… is karma.”
The Esoteric Frog 
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